Bulletproof
by Amaru Tanashi
Summary: Life can be a real pain in the ass when you're not the one who did it. Throw in a cold-hearted brunette and you just might end up with a bullet in your head before you are proven innocent. At least you'll realize that you're not bulletproof. AU
1. Chapter 1

**Bulletproof**

**Rated: **T

**Summary:** Life can be a real pain in the ass when you're not the one who did it. Throw in a cold-hearted brunette and you just might end up with a bullet in your head before you are proven innocent. At least you'll realize that you're not bulletproof.

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**Author's Note:** So...what the hell is up with this? Le gasp! A new Black Cat story! I'm unbelievable but this idea just began to brew in my head while replying to one of the reviews from you guys in Special Assignment. Well, the summary is awesome to me and it only took one minute to figure it out before I wrote the chapter. I'm sorry to say that there is no yaoi in this or anything but I can deal with giving you guys sexual innuendos. I have literally NO intention of making this yaoi so Creed will be mourning in the background. Creed will seem to be out of character but this isn't going along with the anime so he's not crazy. Now he's just awesome. Hm, unlike my other stories here, I must say that this shows a lot of how my writing has changed. So I'll stop talking so you guys can start reading.

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**Chapter 1**

Rain splattered profusely against the cold concrete pavement, splashing up against the cluttered feet which walked through it along the way. The bright, blurring lights of cars shined as the air was filled with the noise of honking horns and people bustling. Women screamed ridiculously as the rain fell harder and the wind whipped at their clothes. It was all a familiar sight to him. The women would scream pointlessly and the men would continue on with their business as if it didn't matter all. Actually, the rain did not matter at all. It did as it may. It fell, stopped pouring, and then evaporated into the once unsaturated air, filling it with the heavy, humid feeling of water vapor.

His silver hair clung tightly to his face, sticking there as if some crazy person with a severe mental disorder had glued it there. Large, glistening droplets hung loosely at the ends of the strands, falling in an annoying pattern across his slightly pale face and tracing an imaginary path along his cheeks, lips, and down his chin onto his already soaked shirt. The earthen smell of the wind hung loosely along the streets as it mingled with the wrenching scent of vomit and rotten food or dog shit. Between the alleys you could see the beggars hiding in their boxes or along the walls in huddled circles of tattered clothes and withered features, some with missing teeth and muddy hair, and others with scruff hair and bony limbs.

Absently, he clicked his tongue to an unknown melody which sounded very close to the song "Mimic" as he waited for the street light to change. Red meant stop, yellow meant wait, and green meant go. Of course it wasn't the correct order of which they went but he had never really gotten it right in the first place or bothered to memorize the order. Such things were completely trivial. If he wanted to remember colors, he would have gone to college and major in the arts but he chose political science which was now turning out to be a bitch.

He hated Chronos. In actuality, he loathed the existence of the Chronos Numbers, mainly Sephiria Arks. She was an uptight, old hag, as he thought. She was all about the traditions and laws but not the fundamental value of it all. Why kill when you can have someone do it for you was their motto. He had heard of the little conspiracy theories and the deceiving plots which had the public rolling in their beds at the outrage that something so terrible could happen. The public was oblivious to all of the lies and deception which shrouded their fantasy world until it made him choke upon his own sanity and turn it into pure insanity. The world as he knew it had been smeared in gold paint, yet he was the only sane person who realized it.

At one point in his life, he had adored the Numbers and what he had thought they stood for but that was a long time ago. It was during a time when he was too naïve and simple to understand the ways of the world and to comprehend the meaning behind a politician's words. It was during a time when he was just a child and desired to be just like the people which he saw and so vividly adored. The thought of his adoration for such people now burned through to his soul just like match through plastic and made his stomach lurch with disgust.

He paced his way through the small crowd across the street, abruptly turning a corner and heading down a familiar alley close to the nearby bakery. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes lay thick upon the air drawing up an elicit sigh of peace and calm. He sifted through his coat pocket, which was an old faded tan one, and fumbled through his wallet for his I.D. Once a week he had to drink and pass out in order to forget all of disturbing information which he had been burdened with during his days of work. His soul needed the rest from all of the corruption which surrounded him and the best way was to bury his cares and troubles under the cover of alcohol. He was a politician, an optimistic one by day and a pessimistic one by night. Everything, as he had learned, had a purpose but politics and trying to end corruption had none. It was all a repetitive cycle which would forever continue. As long as there was power there would be corruption, lies, and deception. Lies existed on a regular basis so what could he do about it? Corruption would always exist so why bother with getting rid of it? Deception would continue as long as people had mouths to speak and ears to hear. It was all a pointless game and he had tied himself up in it.

At last, tonight he would once again down himself in the lucid arms of intoxication and be whisked away into a utopia of drunken peace. Lady Alcohol would be his only lover tonight and the only one he would ever have. She knew how to work her magic and she had a way with words even though she had none. For perhaps the last time before he quit he would willingly drown himself.

He walked down the stairs which led to a regular bar for normal drunks and trollops who visited frequently and pushed his way through the hazy doorway entrance clouded by puffs of smoke. He propped himself up on one of the stools and threw down his I.D which was briefly checked and passed back into his hands.

"Whatcha havin' tonight?" the husky man asked. He wore a tight red shirt and stained blue denim pants. His eyes were dull compared to the broad size of his face which seemed to be smeared messily with facial hair.

"Some blue gin would nice." He replied, placing his elbow on the table and watching the people move to and fro.

Coke junkies sluggishly pushed hypodermic needles up their veins or snorted the white, powdery substance through their nose. It wouldn't be surprising, he thought, if he saw some marijuana being passed along and smoked. The current generation was like that. They were all wasteful, drug addicts who had nothing better to do with their time than drink or smoke it away. Sure, he may have been drinking like an addict once a week but he had a sense of control and he did have a life to live. It was just one that he did not enjoy.

The burly man placed the bottle of electric blue liquid onto the table and shuffled off down to the end of the counter to a man with dark mocha hair dressed in a purple dress shirt. Creed recognized him as one of the members of Chronos but not one that he had seen very often. He was probably one of the members which worked in the shadows. How could he actually dress like he was someone of importance in a bar was beside him but he could not complain. Beneath his faded, tan coat was a blue leopard print shirt and black leather pants. His silver hair stood out even more so he could not complain.

As if he would.

He waltzed to the back of the bar and took a seat before downing the liquid with large gulps. The liquid burned his throat as if it were mercury for the first few mouthfuls but soon ceased into a warm, yet slightly bitter memory of the many times since he had chosen to become a politician. What was he thinking when he had made such a decision? He was not entirely sure of it. His primary goal had been to become just like Chronos, but it later settled down into a desire to erase the root of all evil.

He placed his head solemnly against the warm table surface and sighed. This was what he had gotten himself into and now he was regretting it. Whenever a politician died, you could be sure that Chronos had a hand in it then they replaced the person with one of their cronies. No one would suspect anything and that was the way they liked it. It was nearly impossible to draw a lead from the person they put in office to them. It was probably why they never solved any of the cases. Once you kept your mouth shut when you found out you would be fine. In the recent years, there were about fifty people who had died in the custody of authority officials and the number was steadily climbing.

"Mind if I join you?"

Creed gazed up with lazy eyes before shrugging nonchalantly. "Do as you will."

The man sat down with his glass of wine and smiled softly. "Jenos Hazard. Nice to meet you."

"Creed Diskenth." He answered curtly, sampling another mouthful of blue gin.

"I've heard of you. Actually, I've heard quite a bit about you."

"Oh really?" Creed asked, eyeing him with suspicion. He was not planning on being a part of the year's death statistics even if that would free him from his job. The glove on the man's hand was enough to make sure of it though.

Jenos gave him a flirty smile and stood to his feet. "Even you know that we can't talk in here, regardless of how drunk or hyped up on drugs these people are. The walls have ears and hills have eyes. Most things are not as they seem."

"How do I know that you won't kill me?" he smirked.

"That is where the trouble comes in, now doesn't it? You _don't_ know."

Creed nodded briefly and followed him outside. It couldn't hurt to see what knew. It beat sitting down and passing out. Besides, that was a universal answer which was said when the person had absolutely no intention of killing you. He didn't seem to be a particular threat in the first place but you could never be too sure.

The rain had ceased to fall in a deluge and only trickled down as if a cup had been spilled over and the last few drops of water was finally falling out and coming to an end. Puddles littered the ground as if they were black pools leading to an abyss of sorts beneath the earth's surface. There was possibly one point when the world had begun but he had not been around to see, yet he was sure that perhaps this same pool existed and led into oblivion. If only the world would vanish into itself, into its own creation of which represented Oblivion. Perhaps their final death would be in a watery, abyssal grave.

"Sound the music of dread." Creed mumbled under his breath as they headed across the street from which he came.

"What?"

"I said, lend me a gun so that I may kill myself." He replied sarcastically.

"You're strange, aren't you?" Jenos asked quizzically, head bent in question.

The man shrugged his shoulders and brushed a tendril of damp hair out of his face. "I thought that you should know. After all, you seemed to know a lot about me in the first place for you to actually approach me. So where am I at fault?"

Jenos laughed calmly. "Well, about that…I don't know much about you at all. Just heard your name being mentioned here and there. You seem to be more or less than the way I imagined you would be."

"What did you expect me to be like?"

"First of all, not so big on hard stuff like blue gin but I was wrong about that."

"Obviously. Think of me drinking as a work of art." Creed replied, kicking at a puddle of water, sending some into the air and onto his pant leg. "Shit."

"Your fault, not the puddle's." he laughed.

"Do you have an actual reason for-hear me out now- an _**ACTUAL**_ reason for bothering ME?"

Jenos paused for a moment and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. "This is for you…from me."

Creed eyed the paper suspiciously before taking it. "And what might this be?"

Jenos smiled and turned on his feet. "Just don't open it until you get home. Remember…" he laughed, "I know where you live."

Creed shook his head with an annoyed groan. Great, he didn't need to be in deeper shit than he already was. This was exactly why he hated Chronos. They popped up magically and disappeared into the night without a trace. He was already involved in something that he didn't need to know about and here comes some Chronos idiot to make it worse. Admittedly, he could not say that he did not like Jenos but he could not say that he liked Jenos either. The guy was a flirtatious stalker of sorts…probably the Chronos stereotype.

He traced the edges of the paper briefly and headed home. Home was in a three story, apartment complex located on the second floor. It was roughly 750 by 900 square feet and completely furnished just the way he liked it. It didn't make sense in paying rent and buying new furniture just to appease yourself and your desires. What the hell was he going to do with new furniture in the first place? He only needed a refrigerator, a stove, a bed if it counted; a table, and a single chair to sit on. There was nothing else which could give him comfort in the desolate apartment room.

He unlocked the door and slipped into the empty darkness. Flicking on the light, he stripped himself of the damp coat and sauntered into the bathroom. Tonight was definitely going to be a rough night. A few minutes later he sauntered out of the bathroom in a fresh change of clothes and stuffed the paper into his shirt between the navy blue T-shirt and his button-up dress shirt.

Flipping off the switch, he climbed into bed and sighed. Damn, he was just screwed six ways to Sunday. Hopefully, he thought, he would not wake up with a gun in his face.

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**Author's Note:** The end of chapter one! It only took two days! Le gasp! So why the hell can't I write T.S.A and Untitled that fast? So review please. I really want to know what you guys think of this one. Note my Creed, Train, and Jenos fetish! XD


	2. Chapter 2

**Bulletproof**

**Rated: T**

**Chapter 2**

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**Author's Note:** Ahem, thanks goes to you all that have reviewed. Hm, I know there was something I missed out in the first chapter that I should have said but I'll say them now: this is some sociopolitical shmaz full of espionage, assassinations, and a corrupt government. Sorry about not placing Train in the first chapter but he really isn't THE main character in this story, Creed is. Train stands as a supporting main protagonist if that makes any sense but he's important…just not as important as Creed. He still serves a major purpose. I may be getting very screwed over next year in my writing because my writing is being banished to a far place by my mother so…ehehe…this sucks. You know…four B's and seven A's get you in a lot of trouble if you're me. So that's how my days are going next year.

**Warning:** Not for impressionable people. Mentioning of drugs, sex, alcohol, and guns. Beware of my concepts because I am a VERY corrupt soul who thinks in a very unorthodox way. Allusions used greatly in order to prevent any conflicts of sorts.

Funny thing about this is that I'm a corrupt person writing about the corruption of politics, people and governments while writing very corrupt things from a corrupted standpoint. It can't get any more corrupt than that.

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The world is nothing more than a mélange of colors, each fading into one another and then ultimately into black. Black is the origin of life, corruption, deception, and lies: the essence of life. In order to be one with this order we must first face disorder and realize that chaos is nothing more than an illusion, but what are you to do when this illusion is not an illusion? Do you run and find comfort within the arms of death or do you fight back instead of allowing this illusion to consume everything? Do you lie down and await the end or do you take an active approach and shatter the image?

Creed held his breath, eyes wide in shock and disbelief instead of flagrant fright as he stared down the silver barrel of a revolver. It appeared to hold a slight orange glimmer from the intruding morning sunlight but the gold color mainly consisting of silver or some other metal which made up its entirety. Inscribed on it was XIII and a red tassel hung from its end which was being held by a pair of hands, fingers already pulling at the trigger. Just a little harder, he thought, and he would be dead.

"I've come to deliver bad luck." The man said, his hazel eyes dull with an unreadable emotion but clearly reflecting the light as if it were a mirror of sorts. He was dressed in what appeared to be a long black coat, a black shirt, and probably black pants. It wouldn't be surprising either if he was wearing black shoes. So typical…

Creed allowed a stressed sigh to fall from his quivering lips. This was just not his day. Well, the day had just begun and it was already looking like it was about to end. It was highly inconvenient at the time.

He knew that he should have been frightened but the notion of being afraid of something that you expected was highly ridiculous and it would not have made the slightest bit of sense in any instance. It was just like when idiotic people were always shocked when some big business collapsed. Power could never exist without some form of corruption. Money could not exist without either of the two. It was just an essential part of their existence. How could he never expect the day when a gun is placed to his head to arrive? It was completely inevitable. Some day everyone had to die. It was within the natural order of existence. If it did not happen then corruption and deception would take their place to obliterate the population. The last time that had happened, it had taken place in the form of a cholera outbreak in one nation which quickly turned into a pandemic. It would have been devastating if the people ever found out that the government in all its red and purple attire had stroked the match and set them all aflame. It would have been an outrage: civilians against an army. It would have made for the perfect war crime or perhaps the greatest war movie of all times.

He could imagine it already. He could have been the voice-over as well. The voice in the back of his mind was enjoying the idea: When Citizens Fight Back! They once said that it was a place of freedom, liberty, and opportunity but where did it all go? Did it disappear when the constitution was lost or did it disappear when the love and care was lost? The government is nothing more than a puppet show full of corruption but what if the people find out? What if they find out that all of the poverty and suffering in the world was the government's fault? What will the government do when the citizens fight back?

Creed knew what usually happened when the citizens fought back: massive bloodshed. He had learned about vengeance and all of its faults. Vengeance + Zero Calculations= Compromising Situations/Mass Casualties= Horrific Outcomes. In the end, the world would have more certainly been dyed crimson and would have reeked of decaying flesh and the copper scent of blood. Civil wars never turned out to be a good thing. No type of government was good thing. A country without a government was the best of them all. They didn't need to have anyone act on their behalf and screw them over for what that person thought was "right". They also didn't have anyone to tell them what to do. It was a perfect society wrought from corruption but a better and more understanding form of corruption. Drugs, guns, alcohol, and sex would run the country and that was all that a country truly needed to survive.

"Quite apparently you are." Creed smiled, amusement glistening in his eyes as if he had heard a joke. Nothing could have possibly been more amusing than the situation at hand, but it was possibly that way for him alone. No man in their right mind would find such an act amusing. They would have been shitting themselves and whining like a bitch, pleading like some whore. He wasn't a bitch and he surely wasn't a whore so he would do none of the above.

The man began to squeeze the trigger even harder before a feminine voice shouted at him. "Don't kill him you numb skull. He's coming with us."

He snorted then smirked down at Creed before pistol whipping him unconscious. This was definitely not his day.

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_To choose order over disorder, or disorder over order, is to accept a trip composed of both the creative and the destructive. But to choose the creative over the destructive is an all-creative trip composed of both order and disorder._ Malaclypse the Younger, K.S.C. (1)

Disorder and order are nothing more than manmade illusions imposed on chaos, physical and unphysical existences in the form of Eris and Aneris, being and nonbeing. Corruption and Honesty are of the same nature and so is the Truth and Lies. When it all boils down to the final and foremost end, it is apparent that the world is nothing more than an illusion and we are all illusions trapped within an illusion created by a subconscious illusion. (2) Even the foundational document of Discordianism, _Principia Discordia_, could not prove the theory wrong because what was there to prove wrong when an illusion was unrecognizable.

Creed winced as he tried to open his eyes, pain shooting through his face and making him feel like losing consciousness once again. His face felt as if someone had taken a mallet and slammed it against it. It didn't even need to feel that complicated for him to think that being hit in the face with the cupboard door in his apartment room felt the same. No one liked to be hit in the face even if they were the ugliest thing around and, quite frankly, he was far from ugly in his opinion. If he had to rate himself on a scale of one to ten, he would be an eleven just for the hell of being himself.

He released a pained groan and began to move his hands only to realize that they had been tied behind his back. Well, that was another thing to add onto his list. His face ached like hell and he could not baby it. His eyes rejected the notion of trying to open up in fear of further pain. Damn, he just needed to free his hands for a moment.

"Sleep time is over. Get the fuck up." A voice bellowed, shrouded with the use of a crossfade.

He recognized the voice. It was the same one he had heard earlier, the same voice of the man which held the gun to his head, the same voice of the man with the beautiful eyes.

"Worst nap I've had in a long time, if you want to know." He muttered, again trying to wiggle one of his hands free from the hand cuffs. Now, he thought, would be a great time to learn that magic trick Lin had tried to teach him. It was a bit too late for that now.

He forced an eye open before taking in his surroundings observantly. He was sitting in a black chair in a gray room with fluorescent bulbs. On the wall to his left was a black glass where he assumed his captors to be. If they were there he wouldn't be surprised in the slightest manner because if he were them he would have stayed there too. He was the king of sarcasm and blatant lies in times like these but he was innocent so there was no reason to lie. If only he had a knife for them all…

"Where were you last night?" the voice asked.

He lolled his head to the side then yawned. "Can I get my lawyer? I'm not entitled to telling you anything without the presence of a lawyer."

"If you don't start talking it will be me, you, my gun, and bullets in your mouth." He answered back.

"Say, is it only you on that side of the room or are there others. If so, tell them that I said hello. It's a pleasure to meet them." Creed grinned.

"That's none of your concern."

"You're right about that. So why am I being interrogated again?"

"Interrogated…" he trailed off coldly. "You haven't tasted interrogation yet."

"You're also right about that again. If interrogation had a flavor I'm sure that you sick bastards would know. I imagine that it would taste like blood, entrails, and decaying remains."

"I'm sure you sick bastards would know as well." He retorted.

Creed inclined his head questioningly. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Why was he even here in the first place? He had thought that he was getting the easy way out but he was proven to be wrong once again. How many screwed up moments in his life was he about to have? Hopefully, this was going to be the last one he would ever have.

There was one lesson he had learned in his years of bad luck and slip-ups and it was that apathy was truly a death wish. He couldn't be apathetic to everything but he surely could not show any emotion towards it all. He wasn't as apathetic as most people thought. Instead, he was shrouded in streams of endless sarcasm, laughs, and bitter humor. He was completely cynical. It had gotten so bad that he thought that he had turned into Belimai Sykes when dealing with Captain William Harper. (3) The man was purely cynical even when he was not under the influence of ophorium. At least Belimai had an excuse (months of torture under the prayer machines at the hands of the Inquisition) but he had none besides bitterness toward the world. Was it even good enough a reason?

Probably not. It was just another way for him to feel sorry for himself. He was full of self-pity and self-loathing. But no one could heal his wounds…the ones that had been carved before. Surely a new set could do no better against the 'healing' hands of the world. His wounds were forever unhealed and were frequently being torn open further or infected by some corrupt disease or another. Certainly this man was no different. If he died, he wanted to die at the hands of someone who stood for something true and pure. With truth and purity came corruption but that form of corruption he would accept.

"I'm sure we would. This world would." Creed replied simply. He would keep his answers short and simple. No need to piss the guy off when he hadn't done anything yet besides put a gun to his head…

"Now, I'll ask you once again. Where the fuck were you last night?"

"To an underground bar downtown."

"With whom?"

"Myself. No one else. I met some guy in there later and he wanted to talk to me. We went outside and he started walking me home. He left me there and went the other direction. I haven't seen him after that."

"What was his name?"

"Jenos Hazard." His mind was already putting the pieces together. Jenos probably knew that he was screwed and gave him that paper for a good reason. Either he was kidnapped then his body would turn up brutally assaulted or he was blatantly murdered in cold blood. Damn it again! He was always being screwed over in all directions.

"He was killed last night around two in the morning two blocks away from your apartment. He was also a member of the Chronos Numbers. Probably a good reason for you to get rid of him too."

"The manner in which he was killed?" Creed asked curiously, his attention piquing with interest.

"I'm sorry," he mocked, "I'm not entitled to tell you anything without the presence of a lawyer. I'll be back later. Don't shit yourself before I get back because my darling, Hades, would like to have a _**personal**_ conversation with you."

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Author's Note: I'm sat here at 12:15 a.m. typing up this author's note at the moment and merry Saturnalia to you all! I just had to finish up this chapter and believe me when I say that my day was not so fun. I went shopping with my mom and my brother's girlfriend for everyone's Christmas present and I got shit. I mean, my mom secretly bought me this boyish T-shirt that I was dying over but I didn't get anything else at all so in the morning I'll be woken up just to come to the bookstore and get the books I want. Really Class-A presents. I know what they are since I'm getting them. Be grateful for what you get.

1) Malaclypse the Younger is the man that founded the religion of Discordianism and the publication of the religion's principle text _Principia Discordia_.

2) Based upon my brother's principle of there being seven senses and the world which exists around us being an illusion. I completely support the idea but for my own reasons and mental warfare.

3) Belimai Sykes and William Harper are characters from the novel _Wicked Gentlemen_ by Ginn Hale. Belimai was a very bitter humored character who was severely cynical. I don't think that there was a point outside or when he was sick where he wasn't being sarcastic. I absolutely recommend this book if you want to read it. It's worth the reading time because I read it in one day when I first found it and read several other times. I'm still reading it again because it was really interesting.

Merry Christmas guys! Wish you all the good cheer!


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